


Five Stories Under A Hopeful Sky

by Anonymous



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Fluff, Fun, Gen, Homestuck - Freeform, Trolls, Vignettes, challenge, happy :D
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 15:50:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fulfillment of a request for a fleshing out of underappreciated troll characters in Homestuck. It is insanely difficult imho to follow a lot of the sidetrails that Homestuck takes, so I'm not about to drop some plot bombs.</p><p>These are some fun day-in-the-limelight stories!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Stories Under A Hopeful Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [homestuck_meme](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/homestuck_meme) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Give the minor troll characters that never got enough development in the main comic a story fleshing out their characters!

Five Stories Under A Hopeful Sky

One- Recollection

\---  
Kankri remembers.

Vivid flashes of childhood come to him at his call. He remembers rocks; a river; a dark Alternian sky. Sometimes when things with his friends get stressful, he'll disappear for hours on end, summoning his memories to the forefront of his mind. Guilt usually follows- after all, Kankri fancies himself the leader of his little group- but he cannot resist it. Sometimes the memories are good- a jade-colored woman tenderly holding his child body to her chest. Some of them are painful- bleeding wrists and jagged cuts against his- no, his ancestor's- body. All of them, however, are generally preferable to his current situation. Which includes, as follows-

1) Being mocked by his teammates.  
2) Being tricked and outmaneuvered by Meenah.  
3) Feeling a foreboding sense of doom constantly.

Though 1 and 2 were usually things Kankri could cope with, 3 was not. The thought of being doomed, the thought of having hope stolen from he and his friends, was unbearable.

Number 3 is arguably why Kankri is currently sitting in his recuperacoon, legs pulled up to his torso in a pale imitation of a wriggler's infantile position. Number 3 is why he is closing his eyes to the world, to the inescapable fate he sees his friends facing. Number 3 is why his closes his eyes, and sinks into his fever dreams.

And, as his fingers brush against the false skies of his dreams, something wriggles near the borders of his dreamspace.

It is futile hope, though Kankri can not know that. He blinds himself to it; the red-sweater-clad teen sinks deeper into his false realities, keeping a running dialogue in his head on the scenes shown to him. This scene 96vi9sly represents repressi9n 9f l9w6l99ds in tr9ll s9ciety, he will whisper to himself, hiding himself from the truth with a false crusade, as he remembers the last moments of his ancestors' life- a panging feeling of hatred for all trollkind that permeates even to this day, living on in Kankri.

It is a futile hope, which quietly but surely pervades Kankri's world. It will grow quietly, but surely, and will culminate in odd ways throughout the rest of his life. In his beliefs- when he thinks of death, he no longer thinks of a void, but rather, another plane of existence where, maybe, just maybe, he can meet his ancestor and maybe even descendants, if that ever happened.  
In his emotions- a dull condescending personality slowly showed shades of naivete and compassion, albeit in short bursts. And, especially, in his relationships- he becomes friendlier, a little more open, even once (willingly!) letting Porrim clean something off of his face.

The hope was so expertly masked that Kankri didn't even notice it had invaded his heart until too late. He was breathing harshly, shallowly, in his death throes, As he stumbled and blood fell from his body, he didn't scream, or curse, or stay silent, as he thought he would. Instead, he sobbed.

He sobbed bitterly as he died, harder and harder until he bled out and his life was fully gone. Why?

Because that hope had grown to take up a large part of him. It had grown larger than the sense of fear he'd always felt, the hopelessness of his and his friends' session. It had grown large enough to delude him. For a long time, he held a seed of hope. He'd truly believed that maybe, just maybe, he and his friends could win, and finally be happy. No longer would life be bitter. He would grab the trophy. He would be the leader. He would be admired. His friends would be safe. Maybe he would even find someone-

and then the hope was shattered, and it broke into shards of glass, reflected in his blood pouring from his body and the tears running down his face.

And somewhere in the deep universe, maybe the senseless framework of Skaia watches on with sentience, and thinks quietly to itself, maybe he would've been a better Seer of Hope than a Seer of Blood. He certainly would've been happier.  
\---


End file.
